


When the Battle's Won

by torimiko



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Romance, WWII
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torimiko/pseuds/torimiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WWII AU. Ficcy drabble based on the awesome art of kettlebag found here at http://www.ass-butt.deviantart.com/#/d4edrp2 which is based off of famous photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt known as “The Kiss”. I saw this and couldn’t get it out of my head. I also couldn’t do it justice, since this is exactly what I love about this fandom; awesome people making awesome things! Thanks for letting me drabble,kettlebag!</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Battle's Won

Title: When the Battle's Won  
Author: nicole_sill  
Pairing: Dean/Castiel  
Word Count: 1267  
Summary: WWII AU. Ficcy drabble based on the awesome art of kettlebag found here at http://www.ass-butt.deviantart.com/#/d4edrp2 which is based off of famous photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt known as “The Kiss”. I saw this and couldn’t get it out of my head. I also couldn’t do it justice, since this is exactly what I love about this fandom; awesome people making awesome things! Thanks for letting me drabble,kettlebag!

 

All around him in Time Square, the world had unraveled along it’s care worn seams to let loose a flurry of streamers and ticker tape. Office windows glinted as people opened them, throwing make shift confetti onto the people gathering in the street below. In the store fronts and alleyways, President Harry S. Truman’s voice rang out from everybody’s wireless, declaring the war with Japan was over. The war was over. And in the street, people burst forth to dance with strangers, men went from skirt to skirt kissing random women, and some saluted the flag. It was all to celebrate the end of an era of bloodshed with the start of something happier.

Seaman Dean Winchester could hardly see his own hand in front of his face with the blizzard of paper dropping from the sky, but he could make out the back of a male nurse from across the sea of celebrants. The set of his masculine shoulders called out to Dean like a depth charge, rocking him to his very moorings. He felt disconnected in the ocean of glad tidings happening around him, because though the war was over, Dean still felt a thousand miles from home.

That man, with his long dark hair and crisp white linen shirt, looked like safe harbor.

Dean knew how he should approach. One doesn’t get through life with certain predilections without learning the dance. He’d start with a lot of eye contact and maybe a finger glancing across the inside of the other man's naked elbow. Then, perhaps, if the Goddess Victory was truly on his side, then maybe Mr. Nightingale would allow Dean to pull him away somewhere. Once sequestered away in some dark alley, they could touch and kiss and celebrate like all the other people losing their decorum out here in the middle of the street.

Thank god it was over! Our Boys are coming home!

Dean had been over and under there, by water and land. Like most of them, he had come back different, haunted, with a type of possession that could only be understood by another ghost of war. Did Dean see that same state in the slope of those shoulders? The urge to find out was too great to ignore.

Dean took a bold step towards the curb and his movement broke some invisible string dividing the two men. The nurse’s back trembled with the loss of tension. He turned his head slightly and captured Dean in his steady stare. From the opposite sidewalk, despite the cascade of confetti, Dean saw the hoped for flicker of same. Same ghosts, same story, same passion, same want.

Damn it! Dean had fought and sacrificed just as much as anyone else here, perhaps even more than some. The battle was won, the war was over, and Dean wanted his peace. 

He needed it.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Dean stepped from the curb and started to jog out across Time Square to the other side. From his perch on the opposite sidewalk, the Navy nurse broke out into a trot. The confetti eddied and swirled around them where their boot clad feet sent it careening again. Dean had a brief vision of ash falling on battlegrounds better forgotten, before his sight was lost in vast seas of blue as the nurse got close enough for Dean to see his remarkable eyes.

There was no words exchanged, just a sudden clashing of bodies in the middle of the street. The nurse reached up with his long arms and brushed his fingers in the short scruff on the back of Dean's neck. Unseen, the fingers felt cool and delicate against Dean's weather worn skin. He spared the man just one more glance for approval, their noses so close they brushed tips. Warm breath caressed Dean’s lips, and he knew his request was granted. Dean felt his world tilt on its own tiny Axis of Power. With just the slightest nudge, he closed the last bit of space and his mouth captured the nurse's with a coy smile pressed firmly between them.

The nurse tasted of blood and loamy earth, so unlike the salt staining Dean's sea faring soul. The cloying taste grew in intensity with the kiss, shaking his fragile resolve. Dean needed more, needed deeper, so he let his hand that had been resting on the back of the nurse's head drift down. 

It all flowed so naturally. As Dean's hand went lower, the smaller man bent closer to him, following the path of Dean’s palm and lifting his leg so Dean could hook his hand under his knee. Dean took the offered control and dipped the nurse down. Their bodies slid together with a grace Dean knew he didn't possess. Everything was perfect, and right.

Dean groaned as the nurse deepened their kiss, tangling one hand in Dean’s short hair. The nurse’s teeth grazed Dean's bottom lip in a playful nip. Dean pulled him in tighter, trying to meld their bodies together. Despite their thick wool trousers, Dean felt his arousal find an answering one in his partner. It was too much and so not enough. The nurse had his hand tangled in Dean's shirt to anchor himself upright despite having only one shaky leg for support.

If this peace declaration was all some cleaver ruse by the enemy, Dean would surrender now. It could never get any better than this. This was worth dying for.

There was a pop and suddenly the two men were clouded in the acrid scent of flash powder. Dean felt himself tense, a protective arm still around his partner, as he searched out the threat.

He must have looked shell shocked, or murderous, because the offending photographer took one look out from behind the camera, and took a step back. 

"Hey buddy, I'm sorry!" the man said, back peddling out of arm‘s reach. His eyes under his porkpie hat darted back to the very unladylike nurse still sheltered in Dean's arms. "You don't know how sorry!"

The nurse pushed Dean aside and rose to his not insignificant height. Dean found himself mentally moving the other man from sissy nurse to butch solider. Clearly he didn't need big, strong Dean protecting him despite his gentle occupation.

The cameraman lit out of there like his life was forfeit.

"Wow. Remind me not to get on your bad side!" huffed Dean.

The nurse cut him a look.

"What makes you think you'll have the chance?" the nurse asked in a deep baritone. 

Dean felt his face light up from within. His angel of mercy had a voice made for sin. 

"Because, man, like it or not, the goddess Victory has smiled upon our union. And I've got no desire to displease a lady."

The nurse reached out and ran a finger, long and delicate as Dean had suspected, across the exposed skin on Dean's wrist. 

"Or desire to pleasure one, I'd hazard to guess,” the nurse huffed.

He then took a step back, hand lingering as long as possible, his eyes staying on Dean's as he backed away.

"The diner over here has great pie. You want a piece, my treat?" the nurse tilted his head towards a little dinette. It was a bit further down and a bit out of the way. Dean couldn’t help but notice the poorly lit alleyway beside the joint, with all of its secret nooks and promises.

"Sounds like a home coming I can get behind," said Dean and he followed his Nightingale home.


End file.
